


A Matter of Lust

by venom_for_free



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Beka is an architect, Domestic, Drama, Family, Happy Ending, Humor, Kink, LGBTQ Themes, Love, M/M, Modern Era, Pining, Romance, Sexual Content, We are talking actual age difference here, Yuri is an art student, age gap, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29737491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free
Summary: Pencil drawing in rain. Who thought of that? It’s much more sketchy than he would have liked, but fuck, who cares? It’s just a study, nothing he will get a grade on. And so far, even though he struggles with his punctuality sometimes, his grades somehow work out for him. Most of the time. He is okay. Good enough to keep his scholarship, not good enough to be the constant focus of everyone’s attention. Yuri used to despise mediocrity, wanted to be the best in everything, but then his planned career ended abruptly because he overworked himself. And no matter how thick his skull is, he learned something from that.Sometimes being happy is enough, because nothing is safe anyway.--Or:Yuri is a university student living in New York. For an assignment, he has to work with one of his classmates, and he really hates that girl.So he comes up with a plan. He will bang her father, for better or worse. What he doesn't expect are the consequences of that plan.(Finished, updates every Saturday.)
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 106
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo and welcome to this new, hopefully exciting fic project.  
> As always, please read the tags. This is an age gap fic, and we are talking serious age gap.  
> I hope you will enjoy it if this is your thiiiing.  
> Lots of love,  
> Venom 
> 
> Oh! And this fic is based on real places and projects, so I will either link you to the inspiration or directly include it in the fic for the real multi-media fic feeling. ♥

Some days are better than others. Some aren’t. And when Yuri wakes in the morning of this goddamn day, he knows it will be part of the latter group. He turns and nearly falls out of bed because he somehow managed to sleep on the edge, even though it’s big enough for two people. He doesn’t exactly sleep peacefully. But this bullshit is on another level since now he had to start his day with enough adrenaline in his body to fuel a fistfight. 

Oh, how he wished there was a fistfight ahead, not fucking school. After saving his own life in the literal last second, Yuri rolls around and settles on his back. Technically, that was enough action for the day. But that won’t stop his alarm from blaring ten minutes later, will it? And we aren’t talking snooze here, oh boy. No, we are talking ‘leaving the house’ in ten minutes because otherwise there is no way he will get onto the metro on time. 

Sure, Yuri could wake up earlier. He could take an earlier metro and wouldn’t miss the first ten minutes of his lecture. But then he would have to get up before it’s eight and he didn’t stop skating when he became an adult to get up with an athlete’s routine. 

Fine, perhaps it was because he damaged his knee. Not enough to be permanent, but enough to knock him out for an indefinite amount of time. Then, with the acceptance letter, came the move to America and his dream of skating competitively for longer than a few years died. But he’s happier with the arts, anyway. That’s what he tells himself every day, just to make sure he doesn’t forget and slips. Slipping is ugly. The last time he forgot to keep himself in check, Yuri found himself on the kitchen floor, snacking out of a bowl of cookie dough clutched to his chest, as if salmonella was a concept foreign to men. But not today, he swears. And not just because he has no cookie dough, but also because he is a winner, even if his day starts shitty. 

Eight minutes left and he is still on his back, not moving a millimeter. That train is lost and he knows it. So Yuri tries to get ready for the next one. It’s raining outside, depression weather, and no one should have to be outside when that is what the world looks like. But here he is, getting ready like a fucking hero. 

He wolfs down something that can’t be called breakfast, even if one is lenient with descriptions, tosses half a can of energy drink into his system, creating the worst soup in his stomach, and hurries out the front door. The cocktail is sloshing around inside of him, and fuck, he wants to vomit, but if he does, he will definitely miss the metro. Also, puking is just not cool. And Yuri is. So there is no way he’ll throw up just because he mixed an unholy witches’ brew with his body as a vessel. 

Yuri makes the second train, lo and behold. People stare as if he has a third head and maybe there is a piece of a cracker still clinging to his mouth, but so what? Just because he ate it with too little water and it was still slimy and … fuck them. None of them matter. Yuri wipes it away and stares out the window as the city washes by. 

He hopes Mila won’t make a scene about the disarray, but most likely she won’t even care enough to look at him twice. She’s in the middle of some big fancy project and wants all her brain capacity to herself. But Yuri doesn’t mind sharing his apartment with her, mostly because he has no other choice. And  _ if  _ one needs a companion? Mila is perfect. 

Yuri made it into Pratt Institute not too long ago. The acceptance letter was a shock in the best ways, as was the scholarship. But just because he got out of some of the costs doesn’t mean he would get out of all of them. Living is one of the things he would have to pay for until he finishes his degree. Luckily, the prices for student apartments are moderate. $4,028 for a double room. For the entire semester. $671.33 a month, which for rent in Brooklyn is basically free living. 

He is a sophomore now and moved into Esther Lloyd-Jones Hall this year, the dormitory a fine 3-minute walk away from campus. But of course his day has to start with an off-campus class in the goddamn city center, where they run around in the rain to spot moments of urban decay. Yuri thinks it’s pretentious, but his teacher loves it. Life Study I, a three-credit course. 

It’s the curse of students attempting a fine arts degree to be stuck in a somewhat fancy world. They say his major offers  _ ‘a deep and sustained dialogue between imagining and making; conceptual development and mastery of means; the world of the studio and the studio of the world.’  _

He isn’t sure yet how he is supposed to do pencil drawings in the rain, but fuck it. Yuri climbs out of the train once he reaches his stop and spots his class wandering around after only eight minutes of searching. When he joins them, his late appearance earns some snobby looks, but everyone knows artists can be stuck up as all hell, so he gives up pretending to care. Yuri drags his drawing tools from his backpack but quickly decides it will not work like this. He wasn’t as clever as many of the others, bringing a goddamn umbrella, so he takes photos of his study objects, pulls his jacket over his head, and curls into himself to protect the paper. 

Pencil drawing in rain. Who thought of that? It’s much more sketchy than he would have liked, but fuck, who cares? It’s just a study, nothing he will get a grade on. And so far, even though he struggles with his punctuality sometimes, his grades somehow work out for him. Most of the time. He is okay. Good enough to keep his scholarship, not good enough to be the constant focus of everyone’s attention. Yuri used to despise mediocrity, wanted to be the best in everything, but then his planned career ended abruptly because he overworked himself. And no matter how thick his skull is, he learned something from that. 

Sometimes being happy is enough, because nothing is safe anyway. 

Now he is drawing a dead pigeon while others draw cracks in the walls, and he shades an ice cream cone melting into the street when his classmates obsess over a broken window. So easy. They make it so easy for themselves. Despite him being late, his teacher watches Yuri with the most interest. In Yuri’s opinion, at least. And he isn’t sure this is good, but he can’t be sure it’s bad either. 

They work until the rain starts getting worse, then the entire bunch of students huddles under a canopy and puts their heads together. “Okay, class. Good job everyone. For the assignment next week, I hope everyone knows what to do or at least who to ask?” She looks at Yuri because of course he doesn’t have the smidge of an idea what she is talking about, and she knows that since he was late. Everyone nods, says their goodbyes and scatters like a bunch of cockroaches in the kitchen light. Yuri is stuck with a girl he doesn’t particularly like, but she stands there and stares at him, so he guesses he will have to deal with her. 

“Plisetsky.” 

“Altin.” 

“You were late.” 

“You are a bitch.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“What? I thought we’re exchanging facts?” 

She rolls her eyes and it coaxes a tiny smile out of Yuri, even though he is soaked and feeling icky. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means we have to work together. On a group project. Until next Monday. And no, I don’t have the time to tell you about it right now. I have my photography class in half an hour and I need to get back to the campus.” 

So does Yuri, but he would rather bite his hand off than tell her. And it’s not photography for him, but digital arts. He only registers this was a dumb way to go about things when Azat informs him that they will meet at her home, after school. What? No! Yuri doesn’t need any after-school appointments, he is twenty-one and he doesn’t want that kind of shit in his life anymore. 

But Azat only throws her raven hair over her shoulder, shrugs, and lets him know she will send him the address via e-mail. Bitch. At least she didn’t ask for his number. Contacting students by e-mail is easy since they all follow the same pattern. First name, last name, number of people who had that name before. They are probably at John Smith 25687, but there has only ever been one Yuri Plisetsky, so she knows where to address it. The blessing and curse of immigrant children. And Azat Altin isn’t exactly the most common name, either. 

Yuri decides to stop pondering and gets on his metro back to campus. Azat is there, too, but they pretend they can’t see each other. So they are at least in agreement about their enthusiasm to work together. 

He forces himself through his class, then goes to the cafeteria. Yuri has an M4 Meal Plan, which means he paid $3,988 at the start of the year, which equals 3988 meal points. For that, he gets fourteen meals a week, roughly. Paying like that is almost ten percent cheaper than actually paying for everything without a meal plan because the tax situation is different. On top, it means Yuri gets at least two nutritional meals a day. After that, it’s another unit of  _ ‘Drawing: Materials and Methods’,  _ which is as interesting as it sounds, before he finally gets to go home. 

Wait. Not home. Yuri has some shitty obligation to follow because someone thought it would be a clever idea to force students to socialize and learn how to transform their visions through the hands and eyes of others. A lovely concept in theory but absolute bullshit when it comes to actually doing something new and innovative because, urgh, it’s hard enough to come up with a great, cohesive plan for one person. If he has to integrate another, it’s almost always doomed to fail, especially when the other is such a dumb bitch. 

Anyway. Yuri checks his phone, finds the email, clicks on it. 

Azat wants to meet him at nine in the evening. Nine. What the fuck? This isn’t a movie date, this is a work appointment. But apparently, madame is too busy with another elective class before, so Yuri can hardly complain. He walks the three minutes to his apartment complex. When Yuri leaves the institute, he follows Steuben Street, passing the Pratt Institute sculpture park. Sometimes, he sits there to study, but today it’s still raining and he doesn’t feel the need to get soaked just to stare at some art. 

Esther Lloyd-Jones Hall is a beautiful six-story brick building. Stairs of a fire escape grace the outside of the buildinghouse, along with a big piece of artwork that reminds Yuri of the sun. The building is historic and contains 83 students, or at least it did when Yuri moved in at the start of the semester. He walks up the small grey staircase to a terrible green door he could scream about every time he sees it, but at this point, he needs his energy for other things. 

Entering the apartment, there are a bunch of single rooms to his right. Four to be exact, and a toilet stall for them. There is also, god bless, the elevator for higher-up floors. To the left, there’s a staff apartment and kitchen housing. Yuri follows the hallway, and there, on the left hand side, is his and Mila’s apartment. Number 103, with toilets right there. They fought hard for that room because it’s marginally larger than other double rooms in the higher up levels. Across and to the left are another double room, two singles, and a toilet. On the other side of the hall are two doubles and two lounges. So that makes fourteen students on this level alone, and oh boy, art students are loud, energetic, and never tired. Good thing Yuri is one of them or else it would really piss him off. The other floors also offer economy single rooms, but hey, he is happy with Mila and they barely stress each other, so there’s no need to change a winning team. 

  
  


The apartment buildings themselves couldn’t be further from what you expect of a design and art school. With furniture straight from the seventies, the rooms were decorated with zero budget and even less imagination. In the lounges sit big, chunky, ugly red chairs facing one another, pushed against the wall like in a train station or a waiting room. There are no tables, no lamps, no plants,  _ but  _ a TV. The lounge pantry is a sink and two hot plates. A water fountain, a piano, and a kicker are in the other lounge. There is actually a table, too. 

It’s an interesting choice, really, to call the bathrooms renovated because they somehow still look old enough to be from the nineties. A sink, a toilet, a standing shower adequate for two people, and quite often used for exactly that. Sometimes more, since art students are a little limitless and boundary-free in Yuri’s experience. 

The double rooms are one big room with two beds in them, technically single, but Yuri got himself a bigger one so he wouldn’t constantly fall out. There’s a radiator in the room, windows to the garden, a built-in shelf for storage, and two desks. One of Yuri’s favorite things is the small fridge and microwave in their room. Mila stocks fresh fruit and Yuri keeps snacks and junk and together they live in happy peace and a sharing community. You can’t steal your roommate’s food when both of you share everything. 

There is still Yuri’s little bowl of chips, but it looks even more disgusting than this morning and he doesn’t know  _ how.  _ Yuri takes it to the toilet and empties it out. But he almost stumbles over one of Mila’s boots along the way. Yuri kicks it to the side; she will find it eventually. Or not. Who cares. 

When he walks back into their room, he sits on his bed and looks around. There are some fairy lights decorating the otherwise cold ceiling, some posters they had to make sure not to stick too strongly to the wall or they wouldn’t be removable, and a bit of a personal touch here and there with former and current art projects. Mila is a sculptor, so Yuri and her don’t share many classes, except for some elective ones they specifically chose to do together. Overall, their room is clean. If clean means no cockroaches running across the floor. But clothes litter the area between their beds, mostly because they share and neither minds pulling the contents of the other’s closet across the room in their morning haste to find the outfit of the day. Sometimes Yuri wishes himself back to his first month at Pratt’s when he had the enthusiasm to actually plan his fashion and wear fancy make-up and jewelry. 

But now, at twenty-one, he is an old man. Seasoned and doesn’t have the time and the passion for this bullshit anymore. At least not every day and not for school. During the weekends, he still enjoys putting in effort for a party or a hook-up, but that’s something completely different. Then, he has Mila with him and they get to do all that fun stuff together. 

Yuri buries his thoughts for the moment and flops on his back. He’s bored, uninspired in a way where he knows he should do something, but has no idea what. So he opens a dating app and swipes himself through the city. Some would think he should be ashamed by how many faces he recognizes, either as former hook-ups, students, or—on two occasions—teachers. But Yuri doesn’t believe in slut-shaming and he also doesn’t give a fuck about people’s opinions in general. Mila likes to mock him for his taste, not because he’s interested in men but because he’s interested in  _ older  _ men, but who is she to judge? Yuri simply doesn’t care if his date could be his father. Experienced men know what they are doing, they are refined, and they have the resources to take Yuri out the way he loves to be taken out. That doesn’t make him a gold digger. Or maybe it does. But so far he’s married none of them, so Yuri accesses himself as doing well and swipes right. 

It’s not  _ just  _ older men, anyway. He also fucks younger guys. But they just don’t give him the same feeling. Are daddy issues involved? Fuck, probably. His own parents were never really a part of his life, after all. Yuri swipes right yet again and decides he  _ really doesn’t care, thank you very much.  _ It’s an unpleasant thought process. 

When his alarm rings, he forces himself to get up again. The address is in Manhattan, pretentious bitch. Azat doesn’t live in student housing. Her family is situated in New York and she loves to talk about her father, the successful architect. Yuri keeps rolling his eyes at her. Sometimes he tells her he will fuck her dad if she doesn’t stop bragging. That shuts her up real quick. 

644 Broadway APT 3W, New York, NY 10012. Yuri looks it up, checks out the area around it, and comes to one singular conclusion. He  _ really  _ has to fuck her dad. It’s a condo and built in 1990, he learns as he sits in the metro. If the information he finds online is true, the thing has four bedrooms and four bathrooms, three of them full. A dishwasher, a drier, a washer. The flat is estimated to be worth $7,135,950 with an approximated monthly cost of $21,912. Yes, all of that he can find on the web. It has a rent value of $7,000 per month, which equals 10.432 months of paid rent for Yuri’s little kingdom. He used a calculator for that one because he had to be sure. Three schools in walking distance, a 99 on the walker and a 100 on the transit score. It’s in Greenwich Village, a neighborhood technically recommended to Millenials, but Yuri guesses hip architects count, too. Google also tells him this home is valued 436.6% higher than the median home in Greenwich Village, which is  _ ridiculous.  _ And it mentions local legal protections for LGBT people, including sexual orientation and gender identity in housing, employment, and public accommodations. Oh, joy. 

The entire way takes him thirty minutes. A six-minute walk to Clinton-Washington Avenues Station, a six-minute four-stop drive to Carroll Street Station, a fourteen-minute 7 stop drive to B'way-Lafayette Station, and a two-minute walk. Thanks to the perfect walking and transit score. Yuri uses the time to research. About the house, about the family. That dad is his. He hopes he doesn’t have to break up a family and he prays the guy isn’t straight, but for a seven million dollar apartment, he would gladly pretend to be a girl until uni is done. 

He ends up in front of an eight-story building with fire escape ladders all up the front. It’s basically directly next to the subway, but that’s impossible to avoid in Manhattan. Yuri rings the doorbell. He’s buzzed in and hurries upstairs because he has only three minutes left and doesn’t want to make a bad first impression, now that he’s about to meet his dream husband. 

Of course, Azat opens the door. Yuri ends up in a little foyer, all the doors around him closed but a fancy dining room in an open space concept right there. Just when he is about to ask Azat if her father isn’t home and if Yuri couldn’t rather meet him, the door right next to them opens. It turns out to lead into some sort of office, filled with everything an architect could wish for. Yuri barely glances at it, though, because out comes a man who is everything  _ Yuri  _ could wish for. 

Otabek Altin, architect at a fancy New York Studio. 

They are currently building an underground park fueled by solar energy and it’s easily one of the coolest projects Yuri has ever seen. The mission is to bring plants to abandoned landscapes and revive long-dead areas, making them innovators on the playing field of architects, who usually push for higher and larger. The project so far has seen over three thousand plant types emerge underground—and even a miniature tree frog. Yuri did his research, but he didn’t find a picture of the man. Now, though, he shakes his hand with an almost awkward expression. 

Their smiles are strained when Azat introduces them, but it quickly turns into a lip bite on Yuri’s part. Because the man is not only rich, relatively young, and a highly innovative architect … but also the same dude Yuri fucked in a club toilet half a year ago. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap Chapter one:  
> Yuri and his school are introduced. He is a student at Pratt Institute, a New York art school. A classmate and he are assigned to work together on a group project. She is snobby and a little bitch, so Yuri jokingly decides to fuck her rich architect father. When he opens the door, though, Yuri realizes he knows the man.
> 
> By the way:  
> The school, the classes, the dorm rooms, and the apartment actually exist like this. Everything is based on real floor plans and photos. Even the project Otabek is working on is based on a real project by New York architect collective RAAD Studio, called "The Lowline". It's gorgeous and absolutely innovative. You can learn more about it [here](https://raadstudio.com/project/the-lowline/)

“So. Your daddy is an architect.” 

“My _father_ is an architect, yes. Please stop calling him that.” Azat rolls her eyes and then her body, as she sprawls out on the ridiculous mattress. Yuri thought his bed was large and it _is_ in comparison to what the dorms offer, but this one? Three people can sleep on it and they would probably barely touch. But of course, the little princess is somehow still unhappy with her life because she has to focus on their project and she would much rather do… whatever it is rich, obnoxious, big-city girls do. 

They work on a class about personal object drawing, and Yuri is a little glad they are in her room now because he can’t imagine presenting the few personal objects he has in class. Because they are just that. Personal. No one needs to know about his two family photos, the necklace from his grandfather, or the little ballet dancer figurine his grandma gifted him when he was still tiny and had functional knees. 

Here, he has an abundance of ‘personal’ items. “How about a pair of shoes in front of an off-color background to make it pop?” 

“How about we make it non-fetishizing?” 

Yuri rolls his eyes. That dumb bitch. Nothing about a shoe as a single installment is fetishizing, not if they get to model the context. But it was his idea, so she is against it. “Andy Warhol loved to draw shoes, you know? Even Van Gogh did. You’re just salty it wasn’t your idea.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Or what, you will pull my pigtails?” Yuri grins, but she seems to blush, and that is not the reaction he wanted to get with his teasing. So he growls at her instead and turns to the side. He’s lying on the floor. Azat did not offer him space on the bed and he won’t ask if he can avoid it. “So, no shoes because they are FeTiShIzInG. What else, then?” 

She gives him the middle finger and Yuri can’t stop grinning. He wants to tell her that her daddy did that, too, but Azat would probably not appreciate the nickname. And the information itself. Yuri wonders if she knows her father likes young, pretty boys. 

“Hey. Where’s your mom?” 

“Baby,” her tone changes and Azat looks down on him, “you aren’t close enough of a friend to ask for personal information. Okay? Could you focus?” 

“You were literally the one who didn’t offer an idea when I asked.” Azat shrugs, not at all interested in her own hypocrisy. Yuri smirks again. She doesn’t want to offer any ideas on her own but also hates what he does? Time to piss her off. “How about a vibe?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re such a stuck up bitch. No one would fuck you, honey. We both know this is true. So I bet you have some kind of silent companion here. Or not so silent? I don’t know. _That_ would be actually personal. And risky.” _And fetishizing._ Yuri’s smirk is stuck. 

“FUCK YOU, Plisetsky. I don’t own something as frivolous as this.” 

He shrugs. “We can say it’s mine. Don’t worry, no one has to know you are actually a human beneath all that cold snakeskin. And anyway, why are you such a bitch about sexuality? It’s not like fucking around is a new invention. In fact, it’s how you were made, you know?” 

“Listen, I am not above kicking you out, you fucking asshole!” Azat looks like she is about to breathe fire. Cute. Yuri can’t stop himself from giggling a little, mostly because he doesn’t even try. 

“Oh, come on. I bet your parents didn’t raise you to be so stuck up.” Her father sure as fuck isn’t, after all. Yuri has first-hand information on that one. A pillow lands against his head, knocking into his skull with more power than such a fluffy thing should have. But he steals it and rests his head on it. Nice gift. 

“Not all of us prefer to jump onto every cock available!” 

He makes sure to sit up—for this one, Yuri needs eye-contact. “I don’t jump on every cock available, sweet summer child. I am a connoisseur. I carefully hand-pick the dicks I ride. Or else, as a little gay boy, you quickly get murdered. But I guess you are a bit too busy shaming a culture you don’t understand to think about the implications of your words, hmm? Sure. Protect the innocence of a pair of sneakers, but please shame real, feeling individuals for their lifestyle, even though you have zero interaction with said lifestyle.” 

“You called me a _‘stuck up bitch’_ and now you want to complain about being discriminated against? Oh my god. You’re so fucking extra, Plisetsky. But you know what? Sure. Let’s use a toy and see how our teachers like that, but if someone asks, it’s yours.” She reaches into her nightstand and produces a small bullet vibe. Yuri doesn’t tell her those are for clit stimulation, which he doesn’t have, so no one with half a brain would believe it’s his. Instead, he nods. “Well, fine then. What else?” 

She is right, it makes sense to give it a context, even though he hates admitting that. But telling a story with a picture is just as important as drawing anything at all, so he raises his eyebrows. “Do you use the pill? Condoms?” 

“Why would I use condoms and the pill if I am so stuck up and no one touches me anyway?” 

“A lot of women use the pill for a regulated cycle, not just as a contraceptive. I can’t believe _I_ have to explain this to _you._ And you can put condoms on toys, too, you know? Makes cleaning a whole lot easier.” 

She stares at him as if he just revealed the world’s biggest secret. “I knew that!” Yeah. Sure as fuck. Yuri hopes cleaning her toys has been a concept that was on her mind at all. She glares for a second, then gets up to leave for wherever and comes back with a package of pills. “There.” 

It lands on the floor between them and Yuri snatches the thing, looking it over. “That doesn’t look too distinct.” 

“Yeah because it isn’t. There are like 50 different kinds of pills and they all have different packages, instructions, and effects. I thought you knew that, mister super smart.” 

Yuri rolls his eyes and offers her a good, long look on his middle finger. “This is exactly why you don’t have friends.” 

“I have friends.” 

“But they go to another school?” His tone is mocking and his grin wide. Fuck her and her kindergarten bullshit. “Come on. One more item and I will take a photo, go home and work there. Or, I don’t know, maybe I should talk to your daddy, first? You have been a very bad girl after all.” 

Fire engine red begins to curl deep trails on her skin, tinting the darker tone into a warm shade that would have been adorable if it was a blush. But Yuri knows it’s anger, and Azat looks unhealthy with how heavy she is breathing through her nose. “Stay. Away. From. My. Father.” 

“Awwww. Why? Are you scared he might like me? Do you wonder if he would like to bite into my sweet little peach?” He sticks out his tongue, but from one moment to the next, Azat has a glass in her hand, arm raised. 

“Stay. Away. From. My. Father.” 

Holy shit, Yuri knows some girls are wild, but threatening to toss a glass is a pretty high level on that scale. “Fuck, calm down.” 

“Say you won’t talk to my father.” 

“Why would I, maybe he wants to—” 

“Say it!” She is screaming now, loud enough to make her yell echo through the apartment and a moment later, her door is opened. There he is, the man of the hour, staring at his daughter with the glass raised high and obvious worry on his features. 

“What’s going on here?” 

They fall into a language Yuri doesn’t understand. It sounds a little bit like Russian, but it’s far too quick for him to make out what they are talking about. Eventually, she lowers the glass, but her tone flips from angry to accusatory. Yuri feels a little trapped between them, he has zero interest in this mess. All he wants is his art degree, thank you very much. And maybe a slice of that delicious architect cake standing right there, but that is for another day because the atmosphere is yet again dipping. Mister Altin apparently spotted the vibrator and is not at all amused. Their arguing gets a little louder and a little more intense with every second, and Yuri slowly grabs his backpack and stands. 

“I, uhm … think I should leave now.” 

“YOU FUCKING STAY AND EXPLAIN THIS TO HIM!” Azat points at the incriminating little mountain in the middle of the room. 

“Sorry, but I thought I’m not allowed to talk to your daddy?” 

Mister Altin leans forward with a raised brow. “Excuse me?” And for a second, Yuri thinks he’s in trouble yet again for using that word, but the guy’s eyes are on his daughter still. He looks calm, but it’s obvious there is a lot going on beneath the surface. “I don’t think that is your decision to make, Azat.” 

She snarls and kicks at the things piled up in front of her, sending the vibe flying against the wall with a dull thud. Yuri flinches, it almost hit him. He should really get out of here. “Sorry for disturbing you, Mister Altin, I know you are a busy man with a great project to plan and—” 

“No, I’m sorry. Please. Follow me into the living room. Azat will stay here and think about her behavior for a while.” 

“I AM NOT A CHILD!” 

“Lovely, then you can pay rent?” She glares, eyes bleeding venom. Azat huffs, crosses her arms, and turns away. It’s disrespectful, and if Yuri was her father, he wouldn’t accept that behavior. But he isn’t. So instead he gets up and follows the handsome manifestation of his daddy issues into the living room. “I’m so sorry. Azat is a lovely child. Or she has been. But recently, she …” He trails off, probably unsure if this is information he should share with a random guy from art school. 

But Yuri has no motivation to support her bratty bullshit or even to try and justify it. “The way she talks to you seems quite disrespectful.” Mister Altin nods. He sits down in the living room, his momentary silence allowing Yuri to look around. 

The living room and the dining room are connected, and right behind the dining room is an open kitchen. Those three rooms take up half the space of the apartment. Yuri already knows there are a total of four bathrooms hidden in here, an office, a master bedroom, and Azat’s room. He already spotted a sitting room at the end of the hallway, but there has to be one more room he doesn’t know anything about yet. Realistically, it is probably a guest bedroom, but Yuri wants to believe in a sex dungeon, like in that terrible movie he refused to name. Wasn’t that dude an architect, too? 

  


The living room part is, as everything he has seen so far, bordered by white, high walls. There are an obscene amount of windows, all large and toward the city. Every window in Manhattan is toward the city. Intricate wood paneling lines the walls beneath them, everything is perfectly clean and ready to be photographed. The spaces without windows hold expensive art and tasteful abstract decorations. Yuri loves it here. He wants to stay. 

His feet are carried by expensive laminate for most of the way, but beneath the sofa pit in the middle of the room is a shaggy carpet. Color, design, and make imply it is unique. There is a table in the middle, heavy and solid wood. Yuri wonders how they got it up here, but he won’t ask. He simply appreciates it being there. Two sofa’s form a corner around that table, chairs on the other side to create more sitting room. It leaves Yuri wondering how many guests Mister Altin likes to invite. They stare at a fireplace with a giant TV above it, but both aren’t running. Yuri spots family photos, Azat, Otabek, and an unknown woman. Mama Altin. Does she know about her lover’s club affairs? Where is she?

Next to him, Mister Altin sighs. God, he looks so good in his cashmere sweater. At least Yuri assumes that is what he is wearing. And slack pants. At home. How dare he? And had he been wearing them earlier? Yuri isn’t entirely sure but he could have sworn he saw sweatpants. Does Mister Altin remember him? 

“Yuri, right?” He nods. “Azat told me your name and that you would come over.” He tips his head again, unsure what to say. Cocooned by silence, Otabek stands and walks to the fireplace. All it takes is the turn of one knob and the flames are ablaze. Ah. So it’s digital? It looks so real, but it would probably be a fire hazard New York can hardly afford. “Do you want a drink?” 

Hmm? So Mister Altin doesn’t want him to leave, even though his daughter threw a fit just now? And even though, arguably, that is Yuri’s fault? “Yeah, sure.” 

“Cocktail or something pure?” 

“I’m Russian.” Otabek gives him a small smile, then produces a bottle of Potocki Vodka from a half-hidden minibar. It’s such a subtle flex, but Yuri knows those cost up to fifty dollars per liter, mostly because they are authentic and have to be imported. There is no way he could afford a single sip if this was a bar, but Mister Altin is pouring him a glass with no abandon. “Sir.” Yuri’s voice drops, along with his eyelids; he smirks and purrs like a cat. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” 

For a moment, there is real panic in Otabek’s eyes, probably fear to be considered some sort of manipulator or creep, but when he spots the lazy smile and the lidded gaze, his stoic expression melts into a little grin. “I didn’t have to last time.” 

Oh shit, so he remembers. Yuri perks up like a meerkat. “You don’t have to this time, either.” The grin remains on his absolutely ridiculously sexy features as he hands Yuri the glass and sits back down. 

“Not even in a well-lit room and with the knowledge that my daughter is your age?” Yuri smirks and scoots a little closer, reducing the distance between them until he can rest his elbow on the sofa cushion right next to Otabek’s head. 

“I don’t care about your daughter. We can both call you _‘Daddy’_.” The man almost spits out his drink, and Yuri can’t avoid the tiny, almost arrogant smile on his lips. He made him laugh. Which is a perfect starting point to living in this flat constantly. So Yuri leans in, let’s his finger wander over the broad chest, and mumbles, “Would you like that, Daddy? Would you like me calling you all those fun things, while—” 

“Oh my GOD, YURI!” He turns, annoyed at the distraction, and glares at Azat. Why is she here? 

“Shouldn’t you be, like, in your room, sitting in a corner or something?” She gapes, like a fish, and Yuri wishes he could throw a piece of ice into her dumb mouth. _Crunch_ , her teeth would break it apart with those ridiculous fluttering movements. 

“Äke!” Her screech is high enough for Yuri to wince. “Do you hear how he is talking to me? Do you think this is okay?"

What kind of weird word is _‘äke’_? Probably something in the language they spoke in earlier. As if Yuri’s thoughts remind her of her mother tongue, Azat begins to yell and screech, higher and louder now. Yuri rolls his eyes at her, turns back to Otabek, pointer finger still trailing over his chest. That seems to make her even angrier and at this point, it’s not even about a great hookup, a beautiful flat, or other expensive luxuries anymore. It’s about how much Yuri can piss her off, can make her yell and stomp her feet, before he inevitably gets thrown out. 

But that doesn’t happen. Otabek gently pushes him off, just enough to stand, and then rounds on his daughter. In Russian, because the man has fucking class. 

“You will not talk about our guest in another tongue! I did not raise you to be disrespectful like this.” 

She answers in that other language again and Yuri thinks he heard enough. He stands and walks into her room, taking all the time in the world to gather his supplies even as she follows and keeps yelling at him. When she is still not done whining and screaming he rips off a bit of paper from his notebook and scribbles his number onto it. 

With swift fingers, Yuri presses it into Otabek’s hand when he crosses the living room on his way out. Somehow, Azat gets louder again, so he stands on his little tippy-toes and kisses her father’s cheek. Just to piss the dumb bitch off. Who cares about their group project? Yuri will manage to talk his way out of this bullshit one way or another. 

“Call me for a good time, Daddy,” he whispers against slightly stubbled cheeks, before placing a second, tender kiss on rough skin. Yuri doesn’t talk loud enough for Azat to hear, but she can probably extrapolate from his behavior what Yuri just offered. 

When he closes the door behind himself, he’s a little regretful, because he’s sure he will never hear from Otabek Altin again. Too much trouble, too much stress. He is an affair not worth keeping, not if it means so many problems with his daughter. And there is the unclear status of the Altin wife and mother, too. 

And yet, he struggles to feel remorse when he slanders through the streets of New York, first to B'way-Lafayette Station in another three-minute walk, before he climbs the metro. Because it’s past midnight already, his way back is slightly different. He goes to DeKalb Avenue now, riding the train for ten minutes, before yet another three-minute walk guides him to Fulton Street/Flatbush Avenue Ext, where he takes the metro once more, this time for only seven minutes. 

While he rides, Yuri reads, scrolls through his social media, and checks out the project Mister Altin is working on. That shit is pretty badass still. Yuri will have to check it out in person. He arrives at Lafayette Avenue/Washington Avenue. Just another four-minute walk to the residency hall now, thank God New York is always awake and accessible. When he walks past Mike’s Coffee Shop, his phone chimes, indicating a new message he hasn’t expected. 

**From: Unknown Number**

**_Hi, this is Otabek Altin, Azat’s father. I’m sorry you had to leave like that. I promise her behavior today was not a representation of who she is. She is just angry with me all the time because her mother left and she blames me. I’m sorry._ **

Interesting. Fucking interesting. So mama Altin is no longer in the picture and baby Altin is angry about it. That explains why she reacted so extra-prickly when Yuri asked where her mother is. Does it have to do with her papa liking young boys better? Yuri smirks. The idea pleases him. Especially now that he has Otabek’s number. This isn’t over yet and he won’t let a prime chance like this pass. 

**To: Daddy**

**_Don’t worry, I’m used to her behaving like this. I’m just glad to see you are the gentleman I remember._ **

**From: Daddy**

**_I’m not sure I would call myself a gentleman. But I do what I can to make our guests feel welcome._ **

**To: Daddy**

**_Looks like I have to return then and test that out. I am very unhappy about that great glass of vodka I had to leave behind after all. It’s not every day you get offered authentic beverages in America._ **

**From: Daddy**

**_Oh yes, a shame indeed. Now I have to drink all this fun stuff on my own._ **

Attached is a picture of Mister Altin, Yuri’s glass in hand, and the other already empty to the side. He is smirking as his lips caress the edge. Tease. Yuri presses his phone to his chest. 

The game is on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot to happen in such an early chapter, don't you think?  
> People told me in the past that they loved my OCs a lot. Looking at you specifically, Sophie.  
> But Medina in general got a lot of love, so ... I decided to write a character you guys could collectively love to hate.  
> Did it work? How do you feel about Azat?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap Chapter 2: Yuri visits Azat's home for the assignment, but they don't get along at all. She gets into a fight with her father, causing Yuri to leave without finishing the project. He slips Mister Altin his number instead and gets a text on his way home.

Mila is awake when he comes in. She isn’t alone, but Yuri didn’t expect her to be. After all, he’s been gone for a while with no notice if he would return tonight at all. When Yuri steps into their room, her bed is shifting, a mountain of movement. 

Her upper body is uncovered, Mila didn’t bother pulling a blanket over her naked chest, not even when she heard Yuri enter. He stares for a second, then shakes his head and turns to his bed. The movements in the other bed stop for a second before a voice that doesn’t belong in their room greets him. “Hi, Yuri.” 

“Hi, Sara. Don’t let me bother you.” She doesn’t even leave her den, instead starts to move again. God damn lesbians have no shame once they are unleashed. Mila doesn’t try to muffle her moan, still doesn’t cover herself, but looks over and raises her eyebrows. Is it weird to talk to your roommate while her fuckbuddy is eating her out? Asking for a friend. “I wasn’t on a date if that is what you’re getting at. I was out for a project.” 

Mila snickers, one of her hands disappearing under the blanket. Should he stop watching? She seems to like it. When you live with each other in such close proximity for months, shame is a luxury few can afford. “A project? In the middle of the night? Sounds fun. What is your project called? Will he visit?” 

“It’s called Life Study I. And no, it won’t, since it’s just a subject. Boring, I know. The worst thing is, we aren’t even drawing anything alive. It’s an assignment and the prof wants us to do something personal.” 

“Boring.” 

“I know, right?” He shrugs and begins to undress. 

Mila keeps watching. Her breath picks up. “So what have you been doing until now?” 

“I was at a classmate’s home.” His clothes drop to the floor before Yuri kicks them over to the middle of the room, where they neatly fall into the existing pile. “She’s a cunt, but her dad is fine as fuck.” 

Mila sighs, broken, halfway deciding to moan instead. A hum comes from beneath the blanket and a bunch of other noises Yuri doesn’t want to think about. “Are you going to fuck him, then?” The low light can’t quite hide the mirth dancing in Mila’s eyes. He isn’t sure if her inquiry should be taken seriously, but Yuri does so anyway. 

“Already did. He’s a former hookup of mine.” He slips into bed, eyes still on the other bed. 

“No way!” Sara flops the blanket back this time and raises from Mila’s pelvis to stare at Yuri. He chuckles. Mila doesn’t. Instead, she pushes her friend back down and lays the blanket over her once more. 

“I know. And he’s so hot. And, as it turns out, rich. And not married.” 

“So you will just give up on uni and become his personal cock sleeve?” Mila is just teasing, of course, but there is distant honest worry beneath her cocky question. 

“Mind if I …” Yuri pushes his hand under the blanket, brushes long fingers over his front. His answer is something between a squeal and another moan from Mila. She really is an exhibitionistic slut. “Anyway.” He curls his fingers around his base. Listening to all the fucking gets Yuri going, no matter if it’s girls or boys. He isn’t attracted to the former, but he has to admit the noises they make can be delicious. “I will totally let him fuck me again if I get the chance, just because she’s such a dumb bitch. But also because he’s fucking amazing. He served me Potocki Vodka, the fancy shit from one of those giant bottles. Maybe I’ll be his little housewife or something while I finish my art degree.” 

“Don’t you … dare … leave me.” Mila is panting now, words strained, eyes flipping between her own bed and Yuri’s. 

He has to smirk, tightens his grip, goes a little harder. Yuri isn’t serious about getting off yet, not with Mila still in the ring. He wants that for himself and his new photo. But a little warm-up never hurt anyone. “You can come with me. His daughter is a bitch but maybe you could straighten her out.” Yuri giggles at his own pun, but Mila tosses a bra or something. It doesn’t matter, the cloth falls between them onto the mountain of already existing clothes. 

“I’ve never straightened anyone out.” Sara hums again, this time more enthusiastically. Yuri distinctly wonders how she doesn’t drown with all wet noises. A gasp from Mila and her voice flips higher. It’s … cute. She seems happy. Yuri doesn’t mind her seeking eye contact. They share everything else too, after all, even though they aren’t attracted to one another. In a sea of different sexual partners, it’s easier to cling to a constant than to try to brace the ever-challenging change. “Tell me … ‘bout your guy ...” 

This time it’s Yuri who hums. He brushes a stray thumb over his tip and grins lazily when the motion floods him with a pleasant warmth. “He’s … an architect. Works on a … pretty cool project about … exploring underground spaces … has a terribly bitchy daughter … and a huge cock.” 

“That isn’t a nice thing to mention in one breath.” Yuri chuckles. “How old is he?” Mila knows of his tendencies, doesn’t mind them, but also doesn’t understand. She is supportive of his bad habits in almost all ways, though, so Yuri is hardly surprised. On the flip side, he’s never angry when he comes home to Mila bent over some furniture or doing the bending herself, so they live in a very happy, confused equilibrium of sexual freedom. 

“Late forties.” He twitches in his hand. This probably shouldn’t turn him on, but who cares? “He didn’t make a fuss when I called him _‘Daddy’_ , so he might be made for me.” 

“He’s older than you, so—fuck, yes, there—if anything, you weremadeforhim …” The last part slurs into one word as Mila begins to lose her thinking capabilities, but it’s Sara who groans this time. Does it get her off to pleasure Mila? Or is she touching herself? 

“I have a picture … you wanna see … a picture?” 

Her face scrunches up and Mila turns her head. She previously closed her eyes and sunk back into the pillow, but now she is staring at Yuri again. “Why would I? Men ain’t shit. Show me tomorrow.” The words don’t bleed this time, but she does sound drunk. 

Yuri decides to stop talking and focuses on his phone instead. _He_ wants to see. He wants to look into those dark brown eyes, wants to stare at the strong hands that grabbed his hips and would do so again in the future, he hopes. Lips around the glass, his own lips around a big dick flushed with blood, Yuri’s eyes flutter but he tries, _tries_ to keep them open. 

Fuck. He is closer than he thought. Mila next to him isn’t exactly quiet when she comes and it does disrupt his fantasy, but fuck, it’s also hot in some twisted way. Yuri groans, too, begins to twist his hand and tease the tip until it’s wet. 

His breathing comes in small bursts. Holy shit, he’s burning up. How much did he need this without realizing it? Yuri hasn’t touched himself in a while, but now as he does his body is screaming for release. A primal urge pushing him on, on, on, harder, faster, his thoughts start losing shape. Yuri knows he is louder than he should be with a roommate so close, but he is also very aware Mila doesn’t mind. In general and right now with half her palm buried deep inside her company. 

The air smells like sex. Sweat and something sweet, ripe fruit and body fluids. It sounds like it, too. Skin on skin, wet noises as friction makes thinking harder and harder, panting and whining and whispers. Mila tells Sara to cum and Yuri can’t hold back when the familiar order rings through the room. It wasn’t for him but his body doesn’t care. He tenses, tight, tighter, tight enough to make something snap, and then he groans. Yuri’s hips stutter through released tension, working out the thrill and the need and fuck, that is a lot of cum. But fuck, again, it feels so great. 

For a while, the world is fuzzy as he keeps stroking, first to the point of overstimulation and then through it. Yuri’s dick still twitches in his loose grip, sensitive and raw to the touch, but he hasn’t felt so relieved in a while. He only comes back to himself when their door closes. 

The beds are too small to stay over, and anyway, Mila and Sara aren’t dating. She leaves them cocooned in silence and the heavy fragrance of wild youth. Eventually, Yuri looks over. He reaches for a tissue on his nightstand and catches Mila, who lays on her side, eyes half-closed. 

Without a word, she raises her blanket. Oh. She’s dressed again, a long shirt and underwear. Yuri scrambles to pull his boxers back up, then leaves his damp bed behind. He curls into her embrace, Mila his big spoon. In the middle of the night when he moves too much, Mila will kick him out of bed. But until then, his sheets will dry and they will both feel less lonely. 

The beds are too small to stay over, but sometimes, they do it anyway. 

\---------- 

Mila forces him out of bed with a kick to his back, but it’s not as expected as it would be at three in the morning. Instead, it’s past sunrise and her alarm woke both of them with a remarkable lack of kindness or concern. He falls to the floor but is cushioned by all the fabric resting there. Yuri isn’t even angry, it really is his fault for overstaying his welcome. Most people he would snap at, but Mila is too powerful. 

So he crawls, like a dog, across the room instead and curls up beneath his own blanket. It’s colder than Mila’s and he misses her warmth, but if he complains now, Mila might steal his covers. When she has morning classes, she is far from friendly. And almost every day, she gets up before Yuri. 

Especially today because he only has an afternoon class. Yuri should probably contact Azat and make a new appointment for their project, but he really, really doesn’t want to. Instead, he checks his phone. No new messages. Not a surprise, it’s his turn to text. 

He ponders telling Mister Altin about the mess he made, thinking about the man’s beautiful cock. But saying those things in the morning is weird, and Yuri isn’t sure it would be welcome anyway. The guy seems to be more classy than that. 

Instead, Yuri decides he will ‘attack’ where it’s safest. 

**To: Daddy**

_Good morning, handsome. I hope you aren’t too hungover after those two glasses yesterday._

Yuri falls back asleep waiting for an answer, but it’s alright, architects are quite busy. He can’t demand all of Otabek’s time and attention, at least not yet. When he wakes half an hour later, there’s a new text. 

**From: Daddy**

_Hey, beautiful. Good morning. I have a bit of a headache, but I’m not sure if that was the alcohol or the little sleep I got._

He smiles. Nice. Otabek is such a gentleman. Yuri cushions his head on the back of his hand and thinks of a clever response. How far can he go without overstepping boundaries? Are there any boundaries when a guy fucked you in a club toilet? When his daughter hates you for who you are and what you represent? Yuri bites his lip and puts his phone to the side. Should he get dressed? Be a good student, get up, go to the library, and study a bit for Intro to Literary and Critical Studies II? Or should he stay in bed, do nothing of any productive value, and text with Mister Altin instead? Maybe he would send a dick pic if Yuri asked politely enough. Maybe Yuri _should_ mention yesterday’s mess after all. 

Yuri decides to start out relatively tame. 

**To: Daddy**

_Were you up too long thinking about me? ;)_

It’s a little risky, but it can be considered a joke easily enough. He hopes Otabek isn’t too classy for a little flirting. Yuri knows guys his age usually prefer a more direct approach, no time left to play around, but Otabek gives him a very open-minded and pleasant vibe. 

**From: Daddy**

_I wish that was the reason. No. I had to go over a few project details, and while it was more fun to do so with a little bit of vodka involved, it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had._

Huh. Yuri isn’t sure how to assess that answer. It’s a little flirty, Mister Altin doesn’t outright reject the idea of thinking about him at night. Quite the opposite, he apparently wishes it had been the case. But his answer is also serious. He doesn’t talk down to Yuri as if he is a little fucktoy, instead replies to him as if he speaks to someone at eye-level. How intriguing. 

**To: Daddy**

_I’ve looked up the Lowline. If that’s alright with you, I would like to hear more about it when you aren’t busy working._

**From: Daddy**

_Are you really interested in my work? I would love to tell you about it. Maybe over a coffee._

**To: Daddy**

_Maybe over a glass of nice vodka._

He gets back a thumbs-up emoji and Yuri wonders if this is a confirmation or rejection. It reads a little cold and a bit distant, but on the other hand, Mister Altin is a very busy man and he already made time for Yuri. So he sends him the emoji back, a little ‘Davai’ added to the lone symbol. 

Yuri can’t be sure if Otabek understands that one, but he hopes. If not, he can look it up. 

The idea of speaking about Mister Altin’s work fascinates him. Another reason why Yuri likes older men, they have an already formed personality and are more than their capability to chug a glass of beer in under three seconds. Stimulating in more than one way. Oh, and they like to treat pretty boys like him. That is a plus, too. 

Yuri Googles a little more to inform himself further when it comes to the Altin family and Otabek’s former projects. If they actually talk about it, later on, he has to be prepared. The project works with sunlight collection to bring remote sunlight to underground areas, which is a very wild concept. It allows plants and trees to grow year-round, which means cleaner air, more relaxation, and an improved ecological footprint. Yuri isn’t an architect but if he was, he would jump at a chance to work on a project like this. It’s the future without any doubt and can have a huge impact on urban living. 

He gets so lost in his little research hole, Yuri almost misses his afternoon class. He scrambles to get dressed in something remotely fancy, after all, he has a hot date later. Azat might not know it yet, but Yuri will go over to her place tonight, whether she wants him to or not. 

With two minutes to spare, Yuri sinks into his chair to face the Digital Arts Seminar I. They had to prepare an essay about the current exhibition in the Museum of Modern Arts; an online project called [ _Virtual Views: Home Movies_ ](https://www.moma.org/magazine/articles/276) , that deals with the artistic value of private moments recorded by amateurs. It’s an adaptation of [ _Private Lives Public Spaces_ ](https://www.moma.org/calendar/exhibitions/5074) _,_ that featured over two hundred digitized reels of amateur films from the MoMA’s collection. 

The premise is compelling to Yuri, but he doesn’t agree with the way the curators selected and assembled the pieces. It was difficult to make out if the displayed products were highlighted as exemplars of exceptional work or as representative, typical examples of the form. His essay reflects that opinion, even though he knows his teacher doesn’t share it. To him, this is the greatest exhibition in the entire world, valuable in its uniqueness and accessibility. Apparently he isn’t aware of how many museums cataloged their collections online already. Which is shameful for someone in his position. 

Yuri gets to listen to some of the essays of his fellow students and holy fuck, some of them are so full of bullshit. No, the theme is not revolutionary. Looking at other people’s home footage was a trend during the nineties and has probably singlehandedly invented cringe culture. The home videos of famous people don’t make a difference here, Instagram proved already people are nosy as fuck and will want to know every detail about a person they admire. On top of that, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that professional artists took to home movies. They are people, after all, and they strive to conserve their memories just like anyone else. Sure, there is a bit more skill and a bit more care involved in the making, but does that demand an entire exhibition? Apparently. He almost gets into a fight when someone refuses to see his point about Warhol’s Factory films being home movies, too. 

But eventually, the torturous discussion draws to a close, and Yuri can’t fucking wait to leave. He opens his emails and types out a message to Azat. They have four more days and Yuri will not rush through this appointment just because she’s a dumb bitch. Surprisingly, Azat tells him he can come over in the evening. Which is nice because now Yuri has enough time to clean his room a little, take a shower, get into even fancier clothes, and make his way to Manhattan. 

With music in his ears and a light spring to his steps, Yuri passes the sculpture park. He waves at Mila, who is sitting outside with a bunch of other people, most of them looking at her as if she is some kind of food. God knows what they were talking about before. But just to be prepared for all eventualities, he texts her not to have an orgy later, since he will most likely come home. 

Of course, if Otabek asks him to stay, Yuri will. But right now, he plans to approach this entire situation slowly, methodically. Mister Altin is too good to be tossed aside carelessly, too fascinating to be a hookup only, and definitely too rich to be sloppy about it. So Yuri slips into his tight, black pants and a torn shirt exposing half of his back. Dressed like this, he could be going to uni, to a friend, to a club, or shopping and the outfit would still work. He carefully braids part of his hair so Mister Altin can see the studs in his ear. 

Yuri should probably also think about his project, just a little, so he grabs a bottle of lube and condoms. He wonders if Azat will offer the vibrator if he asks nicely. Even though he hates her, this is a concept Yuri thinks would get them far. It’s something most people wouldn’t dare to show, so it’s perfectly situated in art. 

The tram ride takes a while, as expected, and Yuri uses the time to focus on yet another essay. He is typing it on his phone, Google Docs, during his commute. Hail technology, the modern world is amazing. When he reaches his subway station, it’s already darkening outside but not nearly as much as it was yesterday. The city lights are just starting to turn on when he walks up to the building he now recognizes as Azat and Otabek Altin’s home. She buzzes him in without any fuzz, although she doesn’t try to pretend to be happy to see him. Once inside, Yuri can’t help but look around. 

“He isn’t here.” Damn it. Then why the fuck did Yuri make his way over? Not for art, that is for sure. “It’s a little disgusting how unhappy you look about this, you know? He’s my dad. He could be your dad. What the fuck is wrong with you?” There is a hint of confusion and insecurity in Azat’s voice, different from yesterday. What was their conversation like when Yuri left? Has there been yelling? 

They settle in her room, quieter this time. The city life buzzes on outside her window, but up here, it’s muted. The yelling, the sirens, the car horns. Manhattan is a symphony, a cacophony, perfection, and absolute horror all in one. 

“I brought lube and condoms. For the project. Not for you. But this way, it’s not just your personal items on display.” 

Azat nods. “I still think it’s a terribly perverted idea. But I see where you’re coming from. If a man drew it, like, a straight white man, I would call it fetishizing. It’s not how you view it, though, is it?” 

Her interest in his perspective surprises Yuri. It’s almost human, almost humbling. “Women aren’t of any sexual interest to me and whatever you put or don’t put into yourself is entirely up to you. I just think this is fascinating because it simulates a lover. Sex toys can be an extension of intimacy or a replacement for it. The picture won’t tell you which one, so it leaves room to build a story around it.” 

She tips her head at him, a pencil stuck behind her ear. “I like that.” It’s the first compliment Yuri’s ever received from her, so he doesn’t really trust it. What is she playing at? What does she want? Is she thinking their collaboration will be easier if she butters him up? Well. That would be correct. But still. 

“Thank you.” 

They arrange the playthings on a crumpled bed sheet. It’s like they belong there, which appeals to Yuri. Making things feel natural is an art in itself. Of course, taking them to the max and overdramatizing can be fun, too. Right now, though, things are supposed to portray vulnerability. Yuri and Azat draw the same picture from different angles and it’s fascinating, really, how much the feeling can change through the shift of the lighting or the angle. It’s hard to say which one looks better in the end, but maybe they don’t have to. 

This is not at all what he expected from the night, but it’s just as well. He has a calm, productive atmosphere all of a sudden. What did Otabek tell her? Just when Yuri gives up on seeing the man and decides to get ready to go home, a knock raps against the door. 

“Azat?” Then, something Yuri doesn’t understand. He thinks he heard _‘pizza’_ , though. 

“Thank you! Yuri was just about to leave, I’m ready!” The fact that she answers in English proves Azat wants him to hear. It’s a friendly kick out of the apartment. 

“Yuri?” A moment of hesitation, then, “I’ll make some baguette in addition then.” 

She stares at him, some of the animosity back with a vengeance as if he invited himself. “Yuri wanted to leave.” 

He smirks when he raises his voice, so he is audible through the door. “Oh, Mister Altin. Baguette would be a dream. If you want me to, I can stay a little longer.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy. A wild ride of a chapter yet again. Did you like our dynamic duo getting on some university fun?  
> And are you looking forward to more cheeky Yuri? 
> 
> Below are some images of the actual flat I used as a base for Beka's apartment. All mentioned stats are actually real, during the writing of this fic the apartment was up for sale. (Which is why I have photos and floor plans, yey :D) in chapter one, you had a floor plan of the Pratt Institute and a photo, those are from the official website.
> 
> The facade of the building Otabek lives in  
> 
> 
> The living room  
> 
> 
> The dining area  
> 
> 
> The kitchen  
> 
> 
> Azat's room  
> 
> 
> Yuri's subway experience  
>   
> 

**Author's Note:**

> > Thank you, as always, to my wonderful editor [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae), and to you as the reader.  
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/venom-for-free)[, Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/venom_for_free/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/venom_for_free)


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